The 3rd Hunger Games
by sally134
Summary: The Capitol has reaped a pair of siblings from District Eleven; will they be allies or will the Games steal even their love for each other? (This story contains spoilers for my 1st and 2nd Hunger Games Stories.) Hope you like it!
1. Chapter 1: Chosen

Victory Tour

Mal

"…thank you, District Eleven, thank you for your tributes. I know you are a proud people and your tributes represented that pride in the arena; their spirit was truly the spirit of the Games and of a united Panem. I know you all join me in thanking the Capitol for its generosity and for the stability and safety we have sorely missed. May the odds be ever in your favour." The District Four victor, Delta Alongshore, holds her speech cards in one hand and waves with her other; her smile is wide as she turns to leave the stage and return home to live in comfort.

I stretch my back and shuffle my feet; the mass peacekeeping force that invaded the town square begin to disperse.

"Mal!" I turn to see my sister, Cass; she was stood with my parents but now runs towards me. I'm struck for a moment how she always seems to be running, as if she might miss something if she walks or strolls.

"Pop said you need to walk me home, he's taking momma to the apothecary." Between Cass' breathy voice and small stature you would never guess she was turning twelve in only a few weeks. "Is everything okay?" I ask.

Cass shrugs and replies "Pains again, thinks it might be time."

I let out a sigh and beckon for Cass to walk beside me; our mother is due to give birth any day now and I can't say I'm looking forward to the noise of another hungry mouth to feed. We don't do too badly at the moment; my father is a groom in the horse stables and, between his wage and the additional work we all do during harvest, we can just about support ourselves. My mother was employed as a tiller but she hasn't worked for a couple of months, since her swollen belly prevents her from reaching the machinery controls. Money has been tight, too tight, but we've managed to keep away from tesserae. Even so, I can't deny it's tempting, each day I see at least two or three kids huffing under the weight of a cardboard box filled with grain, oil and preserved meat; and each day I wonder if I should go and sign up. I've only got three reapings left…but my parents would never forgive me if I did it. They insist we'll make it work and I want to believe them.

The Reaping

Cass

I wake early after a fitful night's sleep; the panic of my first reaping day is almost overwhelming and I have to choke down the glob of bile that burns the back of my throat. I notice the shadows pooling in Mal's bed and wonder where he is; dressing quickly in my linen trousers and shirt, I slip out of the bedroom and into the living space. Gentle snores come from my parent's bedroom and I hear the tiny moans of my new baby sister, Flo, as she stirs from her sleep. I decide to let myself in and pick her up, loving the weight of her in my arms and the tiny gurgles of her affection.

"Hey." A voice whispers quietly behind me; I turn to see Mal kicking his boots off at the door, he holds a small pail of eggs from our chicken coop.

"I was up so I thought I'd see to the chickens, there's tea in the pot if you want some?"

I nod and he pours me a cup, taking Flo so I can drink it. Soon enough our parents appear and we sit in a strange silence at the table, broken only by the eggs boiling on the stove and the happy murmurs of the baby.

Mal

At 10am we leave the house and join the long, winding queue to sign in at the reaping. Cass stays near to me and we experience boredom, fear and frustration in waves as we wind through the side-streets of the town square. Eventually we reach the sign in desk, where a canopy has been erected to protect the pale skin of the Capitol attendants from the sun; I give my blood sample and wait for Cass to give hers. Next we are separated, and I move to stand with the other fifteen year old boys, I keep my head still and try to create an image of nonchalance, whilst searching the crowd for my parents.

A man takes the stage, our Capitol liaison Henry Massallo; he wears a shiny, silver unitard and the top of his shaven head is dyed purple.

"Welcome to the third annual Hunger Games!" His strange clipped accent has a slight lisp, "I am so happy to see you all again. If you will turn your attention to the screens…we have an announcement from President Snow."

The screen plays the same film as last year; President Snow stands strong and reminds us that our rebellion brought the Games to us and that we must prove our trustworthiness to the Capitol that never failed us.

Cass

I've seen the film before, of course, but now I feel like President Snow is talking directly to me. His beady eyes look down the camera and tell me that my family failed me when they rebelled, and the death of their children is a just penance for their betrayal.

The film ends and Henry Massallo claps sycophantically on the stage "well…wasn't that wonderful?! Now, on with the business of the day..." he crosses to a glass bowl of name slips "our female tribute for District Eleven will be…Cassava Reed!"

No-one has addressed me by my full name in years and I don't respond straight away. The children around me move away and a path to the stage becomes clear. My face is huge on the television screens and I can't seem to moisten my suddenly dry mouth.

I ball my fists, digging my fingernails into my hands, forcing myself to make the short walk up to the stage. Henry envelops me in a cloud of lavender scent and a strange side-hug, he shuffles me into position and I stare out at the gawping crowd.

Mal

I'm still focussed on Cass' little face, wrinkled with the effort of not crying, when I hear the scream. My mother is on her knees and my father is being held back by a peacekeeper; he struggles as two of them force him to the ground and stick him with an electric baton. Only then do I realise my name has been called; peacekeepers make their way towards me, but I won't let my parents see me escorted to the stage. I start walking, jamming my hands into my pockets so no-one can see them shake; I can't let my competitors see me tremble.

"Well! It seems we have a family affair this year!" Henry greets me and tries to take my arm, he must feel my tension because he lets go and steps to my right. Cass sidles beside me and Henry tells us to shake hands; her lips are clamped together tightly and her eyes are wide and unblinking, either with terror or a stubborn refusal to cry.

In our final moments on stage I see my father clutching his stomach in pain and struggling to stand, my mother has Flo swaddled on her back and a neighbour is trying to hold her hand and comfort her. It's strange to think that they could have at least one dead child in a few days.

Cass

My mother sits with me; she strokes my hair and holds my hand, shushing away my tears.

"I'm going to die…I'm going to die…" I whisper this phrase over and over into my mother's soft, dark hair and stroke the sleeping head of my baby sister.

When the peacekeeper calls for my mother I grasp her hand and refuse to let go; they can't do this, they can't take her from me.

"No! Please no! I'm going to die, please don't leave me!" he rips my mother's hand from mine, Flo wakes and cries, the noise mixes in with my mother's sobs and my own wails of panic. The cacophony is deafening and the peacekeeper bundles my mother out of the door as I fall to my knees and weep into the faded plush of the carpet.

My father enters next and picks me up from the floor.

"Come on now, come on…" he half carries me to the chair and sits me down; his strong, rough hands cover my own and his voice is measured, steady and comforting.

"Listen Cass, you run away and hide. Trust Mal, stay with him if you can, but don't trust anyone else. Ok?" He asks and, when I don't answer, he shakes my shoulders "Cass! Don't count yourself out, you hear? Don't give up." Then he takes me into his arms and tells me he loves me, holding me tight until my breathing steadies and the peacekeeper comes to take him away.

Mal

I stare out of the window, my mother's tears still wet on my shoulder and my father's words still ringing in my ears.

"Watch out for your sister," he told me. "Don't let her suffer."  
I'd like to believe that he meant I should keep her sheltered, fed and safe; but, I saw the look in his eye when he pulled me to him for a final hug, he knew that a timid, twelve year old girl isn't likely to make it through the Games. Did he mean I should put her out of her misery? Perhaps slit her throat myself and spare her the suffering of the arena? Maybe it's not a bad idea…slit hers then slit my own so neither of us have to starve.

When the time comes to leave the room I see Cass stood, hovering on the tips of her toes outside my door, waiting for me to join her so we can board the train together. I know I have to ally with my sister, her wide eyes stare at me like a protector and I cannot let her down.

The train is beautiful and frightening. I see myself reflected in every polished surface; the effect is as if a sullen, ghost is following me, judging my every move. We are shown to our bedrooms and the shower leaves me feeling clean but smelling of some unnaturally strong flowers. I see Cass has changed into a yellow, cotton dress and her eyes light up when we are served thick pumpkin soup, pork steaks drizzled with gravy and then a mixture of fruits swimming in cream and sugar.

"Well, at least it's nice to have a friend. Isn't it?" Henry asks us, a vain attempt at sparking some light dinner conversation. "I saw a baby as well, is it a brother or sister?"

"Sister" Cass replies "Her name is Flo."

Henry smiles; the conversation could've comfortably ended here but these Captiol citizens don't seem to be raised with normal social graces "Must be a comfort for your mother, at least there's another child eh?"

Cass' fork drops to her plate and she runs to her bedroom, leaving her food unfinished. I don't even bother chastising Henry; I just chase after her and knock on her door.

"Cass let me in please." The door opens softly and I enter, expecting to find her sobbing but, instead, she is using a pair of silver handled scissors to cut the curtains to ribbons.

"I hate them all Mal," she tells me "they say they're here to be our liaisons, our helpers, our guides through the Games, but these Capitol people don't care about us."

It's true. I saw Henry on screen last year, just after his male tribute had been torn apart by a pack of animals. Henry was animated, cheerful and a little disapproving of the tribute, as if the boy's death had been selfish because now the victory party would have to be cancelled.

"What are we going to do?" she asks quietly, collapsing to the floor and throwing the scissors across the room.

"We stick together," the answer comes naturally "It's gonna be me and you against them all. We're not so pathetic you know."

She scoffs disbelievingly "what can we do?"

I point out that we can light a fire, identify edible plants and fruits, use machetes and scythes. "We have useful skills, don't count us out…I haven't."

Cass snivels a little on my arm and I squeeze her shoulders; Henry knocks on the door and asks for us to join him in the lounge carriage for the recap of the reapings.

The tributes are mostly interchangeable but the red haired boy from District One sticks out, he easily clears six feet, and the boy from District Four looks scarily toned and muscular. District Six pulls two tiny twelve year olds and one of them has to be dragged on stage by a peacekeeper, kicking and screaming hysterically. Eventually the recaps end and we are told to go to bed.

The Capitol

Cass

I'm so tired. Sleep came fitfully and only when dawn streaked the horizon. I wonder what our parents are doing this morning; who collected the eggs? Will my father receive comfort from his friends at work? Will my mother feel lonely at home with Flo?

Mal knocks on my door and asks me to come for breakfast; I shower and dress in a soft grey sweater and trousers. I'm not sure where in Panem we are but the weather is certainly colder than the warm spring of District Eleven.

When I arrive at the table I see breakfast has already been served; I warm myself up with a cup of spiced tea and then stuff myself with scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, roasted tomatoes and thick slices of toast with preserve. A rising urge to vomit hits me but I refuse to throw up, instead I take a glass of water to my room and lie down on the bed until the feeling subsides.

We reach the Capitol in the early afternoon and I am greeted by my stylist, Jeska; she is brusque and moves my face back and forth to look at my profile.  
"You have lovely smooth skin, such a rich shade of brown." She tells me, and then proceeds to dress and style me without another word. I wear the same clothes as the tributes last year; overalls and work boots with a strange hat featuring grain and apples as a nod to my District's industry.

I want to ask questions about training and the Games but Jeska doesn't seem interested in talking to me; I wonder if she's given up on me already?

Once I'm dressed, Jeska leads me to a stable area and I can hear the roar of the crowd that lines the chariot procession to the President's mansion.

Mal is already stood with our horses, dressed exactly as I am, and he offers me his hand up onto the chariot platform.

"How're you doing?" He asks.

I shrug my shoulders "I don't like my stylist, Jeska; she doesn't seem to want to talk to me."

He raises his eyebrows "I saw her on screen last year, she seemed nice…never mind, mine wasn't really helpful either. Just told me stuff we already know; what we really need are sponsors."

I scoff. "Sponsors only care if you're strong…"

"Not always," he interrupts "sponsors care if you're smart, cunning, they want to back a survivor. Show them you're not afraid, learn some survival skills. We can do this Cass!"

Other tributes look around at us when Mal's voice rises. I put my hand on his arm and promise I'll try, but I know my odds are pitiful and I feel a deep sadness drag my shoulders down.

The chariot jolts a little as the horses move; I usually like horses, sometimes my father lets me ride the older ponies at the stable, but I feel no joy today.

Mal

I catch glimpses of tributes on the huge screens as we trot past; the older, stronger tributes from Districts One and Two look fierce, the red haired boy stands bare-chested and strong with silvery trousers that seem to be spray painted on to his body. Cass and I look small; our faded outfits wash us into the background until we are totally unnoticeable. Why would any sponsor take a chance on us?

The ceremony ends and we are taken to a huge suite of rooms; my sleeping quarters are larger than our entire house back home in Eleven. The bathtub is amazing; I add multi-coloured bubbles and lie back as tiny fish holograms swim around me.

Dinner that night is delicious and I stuff myself with lamb chops, pearly grain and tiny jellies flavoured with carrot, peas and peppers.

After dinner I change into warm, fleecy pyjamas; despite the heating I feel so cold compared to home. I lie in bed and try to sleep, knowing how much I'll need the energy in training, but hours pass and I can't seem to drift off. A tiny knock at my door reveals Cass in a long night gown and robe, she's clearly been crying and I order us both a hot, milky drink. We sit on the sofa, sipping in silence, until I hear a small snore. I cover her with a blanket and then put my head on a cushion, the familiar sound of her breathing reminds me of home and I am finally lulled to sleep.

The next morning I find Cass at the dining table eating her way through a plate of fried potatoes, scrambled eggs, smoked ham and toasted bread rolls. I fill up my own plate and join her, an attendant appears to pour tea and fruit juice, but it's at least another hour until Henry and our stylists sit down at the table.

My stylist, Dillon, asks about our strategy but Jeska is quiet.

"We'll train together, we're a team."

The training outfits are simple; tight leggings and a cotton tunic, a badge with the number eleven is pinned to the back of our shoulders. The lead instructor is giving an introductory talk but I'm not paying attention, my focus is fixed on the instructors setting up their stations around the vast, airy space. When we are told we can start, Cass and I hover for a second, unsure of where to begin; lots of tributes rush to start fires but we have to light the hearth at home each day so we're not too worried about that.

"Shall we start with finding water?" Cass asks.

I nod; it's a good place to begin, tributes in both previous Games have struggled to find water in the arena and one or two have dehydrated to death.

After this station we try camouflage and making weapons out of rocks, sticks and animal teeth.

When we break for lunch I tell Cass I'd like to split up in the afternoon, she won't get a good training score if she's constantly chasing after me.

"But what stations should I choose?" she asks in a small voice.

"Just see what feels right. Maybe shelter or fishing?"

Cass pouts at my suggestion but agrees to spend some time away from me and, in the afternoon, I attempt the hand-to-hand combat station with disastrous results. The attendant throws me to the ground, hard, and my shoulder feels wrenched and sore. A giggle alerts me to the red-haired District One boy and his partner, Ondine, she whispers something and he smirks at my pain. My cheeks burn hot with shame and I push away the first-aid attendant who is trying to apply an ice-pack to my shoulder.

Despite my pain I know I can't slither away to make fishing nets or to construct a shelter, I have to show the watching Game makers that I can pick myself up and try again. I queue until the attendant is free for another match and try my best to stay upright; I'm eventually thrown but I manage to get a few strong punches to the attendants gut and I don't feel too bad about my performance.

Cass

The next morning I awake and dress for training. Mal is nowhere to be seen and I decide to head down to the training floor without him; he was right about my score, I need to prove that I can be independent and survive without protection.

I wait for the lead instructor to tell us to begin and head straight to the climbing wall. It's huge and there's a lever for the attendant to set the wall moving or to create sudden crevasses. I'm used to climbing and I'm expected to help harvest the fruit from the tops of the trees, so this wall both excites and terrifies me. I'm nervous at first, the surface ripples as the attendant controls it, but soon I find it almost enjoyable; climbing to twenty, thirty feet in the air and swinging easily between handholds. When the wall suddenly ripples into a vast crevasse I realise I can't hang on any longer; I slide and slip down to the ground but keep my balance and land firmly on my feet.

I feel good and strangely proud of myself.

Suddenly a voice is gruff next to me "You've got some moves there kid."

I turn and see the male tribute from District Seven, I think his name was Bates, he's waiting for his turn on the climbing wall. I resent being called a kid, especially by someone only two or three years older than me, but I don't want to cause an argument so I shoot him what I hope is a withering look and remain quiet.

"Hey kid…tell me how you climb that way…I'll trade you." He flicks his dark hair out of his eyes and his face crinkles into a mischievous grin.

"What can you trade me?" I ask.

"I can show you snares?" he offers.

I shrug, "the instructors can show me snares."

Bates scoffs "true…but they've not been using them to feed themselves for years. My snares are tried and tested in the woods back in Seven."

I suppose he's right, what harm can come of helping someone climb a wall?

Mal

I can't believe Cass' naivety and I struggle to keep my temper at lunch when she tells me of her deal with the District Seven boy.

"What if he was luring you into a dangerous situation? What if you've just taught him the skill he needs to win?"

Cass picks a chicken bone clean and helps herself to another leg "Don't be ridiculous Mal, I only gave him a few tips on choosing handholds, he barely cleared ten feet of the wall before he fell in a heap. Besides, you should see the snares he showed me, if we can get our hands on wire or tough vine I can recreate it…it could be the skill _we_ need to win."

I snort derisively and stomp off, taking a spiced roll to eat as I make my way back to the gym floor. Unfortunately, in the pit of my stomach, I suspect she's right. Cass is an amazing climber because of her small frame and years of practice; there's no way someone can climb like her after a short lesson, but a good snare could feed us every day of the Games.

So why am I so angry? Is it because Cass made a smart decision, that she could be more intelligent than me? Perhaps I don't want to believe she can make it through the Games without me…that she could be a competitor.

In the afternoon I often find myself looking over at Cass; she's not spoken to the District Seven boy again and has busied herself at edible plants and insects, even so, I mess up my shelter and the instructor tuts with irritation at my distracted air.

By evening I have sores on my hands from throwing knives, it took at least an hour to even hit the target and I got nowhere near the centre. I take a shower and an attendant smothers my hands with a soothing balm that seems to leech the pain straight out of my sores. I don't want to eat with everyone else, so I order a mountain of food and eat it lay on my bed, staring at the twinkly lights on my ceiling. A tiny knock on my door comes at 9pm and I know Cass is stood on the other side, waiting for me to let her in and tell her I am still the brother she needs me to be…but I don't. I lie on my bed until she gives up, then I climb into my food spattered sheets and pray for sleep.

Cass

Henry raps loudly on my door "Come on! Up, up!"

Eugh…my throat is scratchy and my eyes are dry; I only fell asleep a couple of hours ago, my frustration with Mal kept me tossing and turning through most of the night. Why is he being this way with me? I need us to be a team, our parents need to see us as a team…they need to know we haven't given up on each other.

When I see him at breakfast he looks sullen, lost and tired. I take a seat beside him and reach out my hand, placing it on top of his.

"I'm sorry about yesterday, if you think it's best not to speak to the other tributes then I promise I won't do it again."

He shakes his head and squeezes my fingers muttering, "I'm sorry too, it's stupid to fight."

I breathe a sigh of relief, I'm already anxious that today is our final chance to pick up any skills we might need for the Games. I can't bear the thought that I might have to go through it all alone.

"Shall we split up or stay together today?" I ask.

"Lets split up again." Mal suggests "I think we need to hit as many stations as we can…seeing as it's our last day."

I catch Mal's eye at the end of his sentence and I feel like the words 'our last day' mean more than just our training schedule. I breathe a heavy sigh and squeeze his hand again.

The air in the training centre is tense with fear; the female tribute from District Twelve misses the target three times and throws her knife straight up in the air, screaming in frustration. I turn my attention to the false wound my instructor is stitching, trying to soak up as much first aid knowledge as I can.

Mal

At lunch they call us out for our private session with the game makers; I'm not entirely sure what to show them but, in the end, I decide to keep it simple. I go to the fire-lighting station and use the flint and steel to light a small fire, next I take a rope and canvas, then knot them together and create a makeshift shelter. The game makers aren't paying much attention, a few are swaying as if they've had too much to drink, but I see one or two nod politely when I'm done. I still have a few minutes left so I take a dead fish from the fishing station, gut it, wrap it in a wide leaf and then place it to cook over the fire.

"Thank you Mr Reed, you may go," one of the few game makers paying attention dismisses me and I am escorted out of the door, back to our living quarters.

Cass

I'm trembling when I enter the training hall but I try hard to keep my nerves under wraps, I've been planning to demonstrate my climbing skills since day one and I'm confident in what I can do. An attendant is on hand to help and he begins manipulating the climbing wall, I shout down that he should make it harder and sweat drips down my back from exertion. A few of the game makers are looking at me…but the rest are eating and drinking. I have to get their attention. Looking up into the rafters above the training floor I can see huge steel bars that stretch across the ceiling; with my heart in my mouth I swing my right leg upwards and hook it around one of the bars. A gasp from the viewing box tells me I've accomplished my task, the game makers must be watching me, but then my sweaty hands slip before my left leg is secure. My head hits the bar and my ears ring. Cursing my lapse in concentration, I wipe my hands on my shirt and ignore the sudden headache; my next move will need all my focus. A quick glance towards the game makers confirms they are watching me closely…this is it! I swing myself upside down, holding on to the bar with the muscles in my thighs and then reaching up to grip it with my hands, letting my legs dangle below. I stay that way for a little under a minute before swinging my way back onto the bar and beginning the climb down the wall to the ground, landing a little shakily but without falling.

"Thank you Miss Reed" one of the game makers says, he nods towards the door and I leave.

That evening we sit and watch the scores; both tributes from District One pull a ten, the girl from District Two only pulls a six but her partner is given an eight.

"Silver won't like that" Henry murmurs.

The screaming twelve year old from District Six only gets a three and Bates, the boy I helped from Seven, gets a nine.

The announcer displays Mal's picture, "And now, Mal Reed from District Eleven….six!"

Phew, that's not a bad score. Not enough to make him a target but not totally weak either.

"Cassava Reed, also from District Eleven…eight!"

Henry jumps up and hugs me; even Jeska, my stylist, cracks a brief smile, but Mal looks downcast.

"Well done" he puts a hand on my shoulder.

"All I did was climb; I just got their attention that's all." I try to reassure him; he told me earlier that hardly anyone even watched him. "You showed them real survival skills, if they were decent human beings they would've watched you and seen them."

"I know…thanks." We stand awkwardly for a moment "well, goodnight."

I shake off Henry's fawning and excuse myself as well, for a moment I consider knocking on Mal's door and sleeping in his room but things are already different. The Games have already taken what we were.

Mal

Sleep comes a little easier this time but my dreams are filled with Cass; she grows to fifty feet, chases me through caves and, finally devours me.

It's not hard to unpick my feelings when I awake, Cass eclipsed me in training, and now this little girl I was ordered to protect seems to have better odds than I do.

Resentment gnaws at me throughout breakfast and I finish my food quickly; wolfing down my pancakes, mixed berries and fresh squeezed orange juice. I don't want to be on my own with Cass, not with Henry cooing at her training score and 'hidden talents,' so I ask my stylist, Dillon, what would be the most helpful way to spend my time.

"Eat and rest" he answers me seriously "there are copies of the first and second Hunger Games in the viewing room if you want to do some more research."

I nod, of course I've seen them before but I can't say I was watching them for hints when I was back in Eleven.

Somewhere during my viewing of the first Games, Cass enters the room and walks softly to join me on the sofa. Together we watch the tributes as they are torn apart by wolves, bears, storms and, of course, each other. In less than a day we will be there, in the arena, and we will have a choice. We will be a team or we will be competitors.

I look over at Cass' face and I see that her fear mirrors my own; putting my arm around her shoulders I place a kiss on the top of her head. Of course we will be a team; Cass can never be anything other than my ally.

That evening we dress for our interviews. I am wearing a beautifully tailored suit and sweating a little under the lights.

Cass sits, shifting a little in her flouncy, green dress, and answers questions about her favourite fashions and food.

"I have to ask Cass," the interviewer leans in conspiratorially, "where did your amazing training score come from?"

She smiles "I suppose you'll have to wait and see."

The audience thunders with applause and I take my place in the plush, purple chair. Despite my nerves, I find the questions surprisingly easy to answer; they are mostly vacuous compliments and superficial statements.

Then he asks "How does it feel to be here with your sister?"

What a ridiculous question! What does he want me to say? That it's horrible? Every tribute's worst nightmare?

In then end all I want is to show the sponsors we are a pair. "We are a formidable family, she's got my back and I've got hers. Let them come at us, they'll soon see."

When the lights dim we are escorted back to the living quarters. I shower, luxuriating in the warmth of the water and wishing I could take it with me into the arena, before changing into fleece pyjamas and a quilted dressing gown.

I didn't even know I was waiting for the knock at my door but, when it comes, a tense knot in my stomach unwinds. I open the door to find Cass, tears streaming down her face and panting heavily. There are no words, I simply drop to my knees and hug her tightly until Henry appears and orders us to bed.

That night I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting and hoping for sleep, terrified it will never come. A little voice carries through my bedroom wall and I press my ear to the door.

Cass is singing; it's a little song I've heard our mother sing to Flo when she isn't sleeping, not all the words are audible but I know the tune so well that my memory fills in the gaps.

Cass

"The acorn grows, grows, grows,

The river flows, flows, flows.

But tonight, my darling, sleep is what she knows, knows, knows,

The moon watches you dear, lay your head,

Softly now, upon your bed,

You're safe now, angels watch you tread,

Until morning comes, you're safe with me

Beneath the oak, beneath the tree.."

I can't carry on, it hurts so much to think of home that I climb into bed, wrap my arms around my legs and pray for oblivion.


	2. Chapter 2: Divided

Day One

Cass

Jeska zips up my jacket and asks me to move around the launch room. My outfit consists of a brown tunic style shirt over a black vest; I tuck these into a pair of black, skin-tight trousers and fasten a thick, stiff belt around my waist. My boots are tough and rubbery; they have a high tongue and laces, coming half way up my calf, and there is a drawstring which keeps them snug against my leg.

"Any clues from the outfit?" I ask between nervous sips of water.

Jeska has been much more amiable since my training score but she just shrugs "not much heat protection and very tight fitting. Maybe some swimming?"

That's not good; I've never had more than a shallow bath in front of the fire.

"Tributes, please stand on your platform. You have thirty seconds." A polite, clipped voice echoes down from speakers in the ceiling of the room.

"Don't step off the platform before the countdown finishes." Jeska watches me step on the platform, the clear tube comes down over my body and my feet are pushed up into the air.

Mal

The first thing I notice is the water; my platform is stood in a shallow pond and the cool water swirls around my feet and calves in a slow meander. The second thing I notice about the arena is the colour- everything seems to be green and lush, except for the golden cornucopia. The water is filled with long, fresh grass and dotted with lilies; encircling the pond on three sides are large leafy trees with mossy bark and winding vines. The final thing I notice is the smell; the humidity of the air mixes with the sweet scent of the lilies and other flora, creating a strange perfume that's almost sickly to inhale.

The countdown presses on and I whip my head around, trying to get more of a handle on my surroundings. All the tributes are stood on platforms in the pond; we are arranged in a semi-circle facing the cornucopia, which sits on a platform out of the water. Behind us, the water seemingly stretches for miles without any embankment; it's covered in so much grass and plant-life that it could almost be mistaken for a huge field.

I feel as if we're being encouraged to wade forwards, towards the cornucopia and towards the dense, green treeline. Cass is five tributes to my left, she catches my eye and I nod at a gap in the trees so she knows where to run.

Where are the supplies? Could they all be in the mouth of the cornucopia?

I look sideways at the tribute next to me, the girl from District Nine, her blond curls are pinned to her head but they're coming loose as she stares down into the water. I follow her gaze and notice a waterproof bag tied to a hook just under the waterline. Several more tributes are also scouring the base of the pond and I notice Ondine point something out to her District One partner.

"3…2…1…Let the Third Annual Hunger Games Begin!"

A horn blares and I splash into the water, feet tangling in the long grass, and look for something useful. I see a khaki coloured bag tied to a hook at the base of some lilies but my fingers fumble to unpick the cord; I look up, panicking that someone has targeted me already, but almost everyone is looking for supplies under the water. Eventually I free the bag and sling it over my shoulder; I kick through the grass, looking for something else I can use, when I hear the first scream.

The girl from District Two is stood on the cornucopia platform with a spiked mallet, her face is spattered with blood and the body of the girl from District Eight lies crumpled beneath her. I need to find Cass, I look about but I can't see her, she must've already made for the gap in the trees. I don't know what's in this bag but I can feel something hard poking my back through the thin, waterproof fabric so I have to hope it's a weapon of some-kind.

I feel something whizz past my face, opening a cut on my ear and causing me to stumble in the water; a groan and splash behind me suggests that, whatever it was, has found a more fatal target. Still aiming for the gap in the trees I press on, dodging tributes that are still looking for supplies, trying to flee or searching for victims. At the treeline I turn for a moment, horrified at the redness which now cuts through the green landscape, before splashing my way forwards, hoping to see Cass and reach more solid ground.

Cass

Stood on the platform I raise my nose to the strange, sickly scent of the flowers which dot the pond water. I look around me and spot Mal; he inclines his head towards a gap in the treeline before looking away, down into the water. I wonder, at first, what he has seen and then I see one myself; a black, waterproof bag tied to a hook under the water. I know Mal wants me to run…but this bag is so close that I could reach it within seconds; my hands clench and unclench as I wait for the countdown to end.

"3…2…1…Let the Third Annual Hunger Games Begin!"

The horn blares and I wade into the water, the soft current and grasses make it difficult to move quickly but I reach the bag before anyone else and begin to unpick the cord. Something hits me on the head and I splash down into the water as a heavy weight stays on my back. Panic grips me and I struggle to keep myself from screaming out and, instead, hold my breath; suddenly the weight is lifted and I roll onto my front, gasping for air and staring into the face of the boy from District Ten. He has a large club raised high and I roll sideways to avoid a death blow; I kick out, catching him in the groin and making him drop his weapon. We both scrabble about in the water, looking for the club and trying to avoid the knives and arrows of other tributes.

The District Ten boy give a shout and I sense he has found the club; I run my hands over the bottom of the pond and I feel the hook and waterproof bag that I had been initially aiming to collect. I don't bother untying the knot; instead I pull at the hook until it comes free from the soil. As the boy turns to me, weapon in hand, I shove at him with the bag, push him into the pond and stamp down as hard as I can on the back of his head. I spot Mal, he's making his way to the gap in the trees, I see him turn for a moment and survey the carnage all around us but I don't think he sees me. For a minute I consider trying to cross the battleground but the tributes from Districts One, Two, Four and Seven have begun to cluster on the cornucopia platform, and I doubt I'd make it across alive. A grunt from the boy in the pond indicates he is still alive and I dart between the trees to my right, hoping that the lure of supplies and weaker tributes will stop him from following me.

Mal

"Cass…Cass…Cass" I repeat my sister's name in a strange voice, caught somewhere between a whisper and a shout.

What if she can't hear me? What if someone _else_ hears me?

I've been moving along in a diagonal line; veering in an easterly direction from the left-hand side of the cornucopia. There were tributes everywhere at first, running and splashing through the water, but now it seems eerie and empty. The pond water is interspersed with spongey marshland and trees with long, winding roots that form a thick cage at the bottom of the trunk, and appear to grow straight out of the water rather than dry soil. The warm breeze carries the sound of frogs and birds; I hope this means food is easy to come by, I pass some wild mint and pick some leaves to keep in my pocket for later.

Walking is difficult, sometimes the marsh is thin and my boot passes straight through into the water. I also have to pause regularly to listen for…what am I listening for? The sound of Cass whimpering in fear? Somehow I doubt that's what will happen; Cass' training score has given her more sureness than I've ever seen. I turn my attention high into the trees and see if I can spot her, hiding out in a place where she feels confident in her abilities.

Its mid-morning when the cannon begin to sound; I count them off under my breath and realise that ten of us are already dead. What if they found Cass hiding near the cornucopia?

At noon I have to stop, I haven't seen another tribute for hours and I want to see what's in my bag.

The bag itself is a dark green colour; it's vaguely oblong in shape and the fabric is waxy yet very flexible. It takes a while to undo the tight drawstring but I'm pleased the inside of the bag is totally dry- at least the Game makers did a good job of packing supplies.

Inside I find; a small, metal pot and lid, six waxed matches, a two litre bottle of water (full,) a pair of binoculars and a wrapped medical kit containing bandages and three hypodermic syringes. I hold the syringes carefully up to the light; they are filled with some kind of clear solution but I have no idea what it's for. It could be a painkiller, anti-infection medication or even poison. Feeling dejected that I don't have a weapon I store everything back in the bag as carefully as I can (so as not to break the syringe) and search the ground for a stick. I find one which is about two feet long and fairly straight; it's thin enough to fit comfortably in my hand but thick enough that it would cause an injury if I hit someone with it. I drink a little water and I'm glad that at least thirst doesn't seem to be too much of a problem here; water is everywhere and I suspect it's likely to rain before long.

There seems little else to do but continue my search for Cass; I try to work in a semi-circle, using my binoculars to look ahead between the trees. I wonder if my parents are stood in the square and I hope our neighbours are being kind to them…especially if Cass is already dead.

The temperature climbs as the afternoon draws on but I don't dare take off my jacket; clouds of tiny flies hang in the air and a few have already bitten my forehead and cheeks. As the marshland gives way to solid ground I find a flat clearing with large, rough boulders and decide to sharpen some thinner sticks to use for hunting frogs. The large, rich meals of the Capitol are just a memory now and I need to think about my own survival as well as Cass'.

Cass 

I pack my supplies back into the bag and sling it over my shoulder. My provisions include; a blanket, a small net with an extendable handle, a coil of strong rope, a water skin and the metal hook that held the bag in the water. I keep the hook in my hand as my only weapon; it's about six inches long with a spike on one end and the hook on the other. Not much against a spear or a sword but I feel better for having it in my hand.

The landscape is quite dry here, I left the marshland around noon and now I continue to hike east, hoping to meet up with Mal. Its slow going; every broken branch and bird call has me hiding behind tree trunks or climbing a little way up, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being stalked by predators. I filled my water skin at the pond and I drink a full mouthfuls as I walk; it's so hot in the afternoon that I don't even stop to wonder if the water is clean enough to drink. It doesn't taste stagnant or salty so hopefully I will be okay.

By late afternoon I find myself stumbling; the adrenaline fuelled terror that carried me through the day is starting to ebb. My footsteps are growing heavy and my stomach rumbles loudly.

Crops and plants are my life back in Eleven; we aren't allowed to take anything from the growing fields or orchards but it isn't illegal to pick wildflowers, grow herbs or seed your own food around your dwelling. It takes me another hour but I spot the curly leaves of wild burdock and stop to collect the young, green leaves and then dig up the roots. The taste isn't pleasant but I'm used to it and I take the time to forage around some more; finding a patch of red-berries and some shepherd's purse.

My legs ache and I want to stop, maybe even find somewhere to rest, but I'm still hoping that I'll see Mal. I hope he's still alive.

Mal

I have three, fat bullfrogs on sticks and wonder about making a fire. I don't like the idea of eating raw frog but I mentally scold myself for becoming so picky after eating the glorious food of the Capitol. Still…a fire could attract another tribute so I'll have to be careful where I place it. I find a tree with strange roots that form a cage at the base of the trunk; finding dry kindling is difficult but I've lit a fire in the hearth almost every day of my life for the last six years and it doesn't take too long.

The frogs are delicious and I'm pleased that the tree roots have dispersed the smoke of the fire, leaving only glowing coals to warm me in the cool, evening air.

When the Capitol appears in the sky, I wring my hands and wait as the images of dead tributes are projected in front of my eyes; the boy from Three, both from Five, both from Six, the girl from Eight, both from Ten and both from Twelve.

I rest my head back against the tree…she's still alive. I have a few moments of relief before my heart begins to pound once more; Cass could be bleeding to death somewhere, any moment a cannon could boom for her.

Cass

We've both made it through the first day. The relief courses through my veins and I feel certain I'll find Mal…but not tonight. I pull my bag up between my knees and wrap my blanket around my chest; burrowing beneath the roots took the last of my strength but it was time well spent. I found a gap just large enough to admit my small body and now I am huddled inside the hollow base of a large tree. The ground is spongey, cold and damp but at least I feel safe enough to close my eyes.


	3. Chapter 3: Alone

Day Two

Mal

My eyes snap open and I, feel for my stick in the darkness before dawn.

"…down this way, I think."

"Wish we'd brought more food Tryst…"

"Careful you're stepping on my boots…"

I think the voices are coming from my right; I can hear the boy from District One, Tryst, the loudest and I think he's at the head of the pack.

My heart thuds and my mouth is dry; should I keep still and hope they walk past? Should I start running now and get a head start?

I can see the flickering lights of torches between the trees and I know now they are coming right towards me. The waterproof bag I took from the cornucopia is already packed and slung over my body so at least I don't need to worry about leaving my supplies behind; I roll onto my belly and, as quickly as I dare, shuffle away from the large group of strong tributes.

They come closer and I don't dare move anymore in case I make too much noise, instead, I huddle against a tree and try to slow my breathing. The group point ahead and, for a moment, I think they're going to walk straight past me…then I hear the first snap and resulting scream.

"Get it off me!" The girl from Four cries out in pain and anger, I can see her leg stuck in what seems to be a large dome, rising from the ground.

I can't help my curiosity and shuffle further forwards. The girl's ankle is trapped in the mouth of a large, green lizard with a dome shell and snapping jaws; I watch in growing horror as three more of the creatures emerge from the marsh and snap towards the her, one grabbing her elbow and another grabbing her left leg. Onedine and Tryst try stabbing and spearing the creatures, but their weapons are useless; the mutts' shells deflect their blades without blinking an eye. The girl screams and tries to defend herself but they unbalance her and I can see them, pulling chunks of flesh from her body and calling out in strange guttural sounds.

The other tributes share a glance and then, wordlessly, decide to leave the girl; they turn and begin a steady jog away from the creatures and deeper into the marshy forest. I shuffle back to the tree and sit with my back against it; looking around for more of the mutts and trying to block out the tortured shrieks of the District Four girl. I don't know how long it takes for the girl to die. One hour? Two? But I know she fights them with all her strength and the arena is fully lit with daylight when the cannon finally signals her demise.

When I eventually pluck up the courage to move from my tree, the hovercraft has already scooped up the girl's body and the domed mutts are nowhere to be seen. I steel myself and walk towards the scene of her death. The ground is too wet for bloodstains but I see drops on the leaves of the flowers and, if I close my eyes, I can hear the echoes of her screams. Nearby I spot a bag, an actual sturdy rucksack, which must've belonged to the dead girl and wasn't scooped up by the hovercraft; it has a few rips and one of the straps has been gnawed through but, otherwise, it's still perfectly serviceable.

Even more exciting are the supplies inside; I find another bottle of water, several pouches of grain, a pouch of dried pear slices, rolled up sleeping bag and, best of all, a large knife with a long blade and hard sheath.

My glee is interrupted by a loud bird call and, not wanting to run into anymore tributes or mutts, I tie the two halves of the backpack strap together, sling it over my shoulders and begin a quick march in the opposite direction of the strong pack.

Cass

My feet drag a little on the ground; I slept so poorly in the cramped roots of the tree that I ache and wince when I turn my neck. The ground is rich with plantlife and I try to forage as I walk, the place is alive with the sounds of wildlife and I decide to set snares tonight, the way Bates taught me.

Every now and again I stop, listening for a trace of voices on the breeze, I wish I had someone here with me…I wish Mal was here with me.

By noon I am tired and desperate for something more substantial than roots and leaves. I look around until I find a large elm with a sturdy, moss-covered trunk, high, wide branches and plenty of foliage; it's close to the surrounding trees and I think I can hide there. Next, keeping in mind where the tree is, I hike for a while until I think I have found a good place for snares and then look about for a tree with strong vines. I can see the snares clearly in my head, as clearly as when Bates showed them to me back in the training centre; but it's difficult to replicate them when I'm also looking over my shoulder every few seconds. It takes time….lots of time….but I manage to set four snares that, I hope, will catch something small. Maybe a rabbit, squirrel or even one of the little waterfowl I've seen running through the undergrowth; my mouth waters at the thought of meat.

I make my way back to the elm and climb up, high, into the branches. From here I can see trees running all the way to the horizon, a glint makes me think I can see the cornucopia but it could just be a trick of the light or my own imagination. Water cuts narrow paths through the trees and I can see patches of vibrant green where the soil has given way to marshland; the humidity reminds me of summer back in Eleven. I pull away some of the moss from the trunk and rest my head against the damp bark, watching for tributes and hoping for Mal.

Mal

I mix a pouch of grain with water in my metal pot and eat it cold as I hike. My new knife is slotted in my belt and I feel better for having it; I wonder a little what my parents think of me now, walking with a weapon that I would use to defend myself instead of picking crops in the fields.

Stopping to fill my water bottles I freeze when I hear a cannon…nothing emerges from the trees but I crouch down low anyway and wait a good while, just in case. My stomach rumbles and I stuff a handful of wild mint leaves into my mouth; the fresh taste dispels the remnants of yesterday's frog supper from my breath but does little to quell my hunger. I don't want to use another of my precious grain pouches so I tell myself to toughen up, stuff another handful of mint in my mouth, and look for a place I can rest tonight.

I reach a fast flowing stream and, once again, I am struck with the wetness of this arena compared to the near desert of last year's Games. The intense heat of day becomes a milder, muggy evening haze; I scoop up mud and paint it onto my face and neck. My dark skin is well camouflaged at night as it is, but the mud should help to discourage the clouds of gnats from biting me.

The anthem plays and the Capitol seal appears in the sky; I know there will be a picture of the Girl from District Four but I also see the boy from District Nine. I get the sleeping bag out of the rucksack but I'm reluctant to be trapped in it if another tribute comes by so, instead, I rest myself back on the rucksack, unzip the sleeping bag and wrap it around myself like a blanket. The sky is bright with stars and I'm glad my parents can still say their children are alive.


	4. Chapter 4: Found

Day Three

Cass

I sleep…it must be sleep because my dreams are plagued by Mal; he slithers towards me on his belly like a snake, growls beneath my tree like a wolf and pecks at my eyes like a bird. Somewhere around the kiss of dawn, I dream that Mal is a giant rat, he scratches at my face over and over…and the pain is real. My eyes try to snap open but my right eye remains very slightly closed and I can feel the throb of swelling around my eyelid. The arena is lit with shades of rippling grey from the misty sunrise but I can see a shade of red on the moss of the tree-trunk where I rested my head in sleep; I gingerly touch my right cheek with the very tip of my index finger and I can feel raised, lumps on my skin and the heat of inflammation.

Looking back at the blood tinged lichen I wonder whether it's a kind of allergy; but I know I cleared the greenery away from the tree before I went to sleep. I pull my shirt over my hand and grab a handful of fresh, green moss, pulling it off the bark of the tree and throwing it on the floor. Then I drink a few mouthfuls of water, stuff a few of my foraged berries in my mouth and watch for a while; the lichen moves slowly but soon a very thin layer has grown over the empty patch.

I drop down to the forest floor and step back, looking at the huge elm where I slept. Last night it represented a kind of safety, a way of being off the floor and away from the eyes of tributes, now I'm not so sure. My face itches and my eye is sore but I'm too hungry to sit still.

I track my way back to the snares I set yesterday but they're empty. My stomach growls and no amount of berries or leaves will quell it; I want to reset the snares but I also want to keep moving, I can't sleep in that tree again so I need to look for somewhere safe…if such a thing exists here.

Mal

Moisture is everywhere; it hangs in the air when I breathe and mixes with the humidity before forming beads on my skin and rolling down my back. I stop at one of the many narrow streams which criss-cross the landscape; refill bottles and wash my face. Without my layer of mud the flies stalk me and bite at my forehead, cheeks and neck, I try to swat at them but my sweaty limbs move slowly and my irritation builds as the damp heat stokes my growing frustration…where are you Cass?! I'm doing my job, I'm being a good brother, a good son, so where are you?!

Cass

The throbbing in my face is more intense now; swelling has spread to my lips as well as forcing my eye ever more closed. It's not just the pain, my thoughts are growing cloudy, and I keep having to stop and change my gait so I don't fall into the water. My feet are clumsy and I put my left foot through the marsh and collapse in splashy heap on the floor; fortunately the water isn't deep, but I pull a muscle in my groin and let out a sorrowful moan as I land. I realise I can't keep going aimlessly; I'd be better just staying here, drinking water and resting. I spot a fat bullfrog and try to grab him but my right arm doesn't feel totally under my control and I can't seem to clench my fingers. Things seem fuzzier now, it's probably easier to just go to sleep and wait until I feel better.

Mal

I don't know why I'm surprised when it starts to rain; the landscape is so green that it must rain here all the time, but I'm glad of a chance to clean the sweat from my body (even if it means walking in soggy clothing.)

The precipitation is only a light mist at first and the tiny droplets hardly kiss the green of the forest; but a silvery mist rises from the floor and curls around the trees. Soon, the fog is hanging in the air and I waft it with my hand, almost enjoying the novelty of walking through a cloud. Nothing happens for a few more minutes but, when the rain starts to drip down the leaves and fall directly onto the tree-bark, I notice the movement of the vines. They creep, like beckoning fingers, out from the trees and dance through the fog until they entwine with one another.

I try to steady my breathing and move as quickly as I dare, ducking away from their grasp and stepping over the growing carpet of vines on the floor. A sudden squeal makes me jump and I spot a wild piglet as it runs across the marshy floor of the forest; a vine touches it's hoof and then, suddenly, six or seven of the green protrusions have wrapped around the little pig. They begin to pulsate and grow huge in diameter as they suck its blood like a leech, leaving a shrunken corpse on the ground.

Nausea hits me in a sudden wave and I have to gulp down a fiery glob of vomit; I can't let these things know I'm here. The rain is still falling steadily and, each time a drop hits the vines, it makes them dance and twitch, invigorating their search for prey.

I move with the care of a cat and teeter as I vault in the air and land in a clear space on the floor; for a moment I think I can see the edge of this mini-Game, the rain ends in a uniform curtain less than ten feet from my position and, when I hear another cut off squeak behind me, I cannot wait to get my feet on safe ground.

Then I see her.

Cass' dark skin is difficult to spot, but I see her, slumped against a tree with her face turned away from me. The fog is spreading and the wall of rain will soon reach the vines wrapped close to her body. My father's words echo in my head _"don't let her suffer."_ I know he's right,Cass can't die like this.

I slide my knife from the sheath and hold it tight; then I look at the floor, clear gaps are becoming fewer and farther between, and the ground is a slithering tangle of wet vines occasionally rising, probing and searching the air.

My progress is slow and I daren't breathe as I tiptoe; my boots squelch and I cringe as a vine winds close to my neck, it curls out into the mist and then retracts once more. Eventually I make it to Cass; her face seems swollen and there is a thin layer of lichen on her cheek. I pull her towards me and she opens her left eye.

"Mal?" Cass' voice is breathy and faint, her visible pupil is unusually wide and I'm not sure if she really sees me. I shush her and throw her arm around my neck as the rain moves closer to us. Cass' feet are unsteady but I see she has a bag around her body; I stuff it between my back and backpack until it sticks and helps pull her towards me. A rain drop on my arm startles me and I know we need to move; I half walk and half drag Cass but soon I realise she won't make it through the tangle of vines which snake across the floor. A sharp pain hits my knee, followed by a sensation of sucking, and I see a vine has found me; it must be barbed because it stabs me and sticks as I move, I hack at it with my knife and it breaks easily but, by then, five more have barbed themselves to my shoulder and leg. Cass has one on her head and another curls up from her ankle.

My face is wet from rain, sweat and tears of frustration...but I'm not ready to give in.

I swipe wildly with my knife and try to slog my way through the mist, pulling Cass towards a hope for freedom; sharp pains stab at me and I can feel trickles of blood running down my neck and arms, but I don't stop, I just focus on a place out of the mist and run as fast as I can.

I'm not sure when we break free, my clothes are so waterlogged that I don't feel the lack of rain straight-away, it could even be that the Gamemakers stopped the rain because other tributes are nearby, but either way we find relief in a clearing. I throw down my backpack, lay Cass on it and then vomit heavily until I am wretching up nothing but hot, green bile. Three vines are still attached to me; I rip their barbs out of my skin and heave them away before doing the same for Cass. Her breathing is more laboured now. The blood-loss hasn't helped her recover from whatever caused the injuries to her face; red and purple streaks stretch over her right eye and down, across her neck, as if she is being strangled by something I cannot see.

Time passes, I drink water and try to dribble some into her mouth but she doesn't even open her good eye anymore; her chest hardly moves and her body is limp.

What do I do?! I don't know what's happened to her, I can't see signs of injury from a weapon so what was it? Poisoned food? An animal bite? Cass begins to convulse and I hold her wilted body to me, hugging her and willing her to live. _"Don't let her suffer…don't let her suffer…don't let her suffer"_ I've not done my job, she's suffering now and I can't help her!  
A sudden, desperate thought grips me and I remember the syringes from my supplies. I fish one out and hold it in a trembling hand; this could be kill or cure, but if I do nothing then Cass will surely die. I push the needle into her leg and depress the syringe; then I sit with her head in my lap and wait.

Cass

My mouth is so dry that, before I even open my eyes, I reach my hand out to find my water flask, it lies beside me and I drink deeply. I feel hungry and weak…so very weak…but my thoughts are clearer than they were before. I take a deep breath before opening my eyes; part of me already knows that one side will remain dark…my left eye sees the dusky grey of the arena and the resting form of my brother by my side.

My right eye sees nothing.

I put my fingers to my face and I can feel that the skin of my right cheek is scaly and wrinkled, I wearily crawl over to a pool of water and look at my reflection; my right eye is milky white and a huge red streak curves across my eyelid and down my neck.

"How are you feeling?" I turn to see Mal, resting on his elbows. He reaches for a little pot of grain and offers it to me; I practically snatch it out of his hands and dig into it hungrily, scooping the cold mush into my mouth with my fingers without even saying thank you. When I am done I drop the pot and look at my brother…he rests on his haunches, knife at his side and a look of concern on his face.

"Oh Mal…" these are the only words I manage to speak before I reach out to him and push my face into his skinny frame. He holds me tightly and grips his fingers into my arms, then he gently pushes me back onto the backpack and orders me to eat more food.

"Where is all this from?" I ask; Mal has a bag containing some small bread rolls, they smell of spices and dried fruit.

"I got a parachute after we got out of the rain. Do you remember the rain? The vines?" He asks me

I shake my head "Not really, I remember the moss from an elm tree causing the rash on my face, then things went fuzzy pretty fast…I remember feeling panic and then I saw you. I'll never be able to thank you enough for saving me Mal, but I'm glad it got you a sponsor."

He holds my hand "I'm just glad we're together again." For a moment Mal looks uncomfortable and he stutters as he asks "how's your eye?"

A sob catches in my chest; I'm trying so hard not to grieve the loss of my eyesight and the fact that it more than halves my chances of getting home, I don't really want to talk about it.

"I can't see anything at all. Not much to say about it now, we need to watch these trees, the moss and the vines seem hardwired to hurt us."

He nods "get some rest for tonight. We're as safe in this clearing as anywhere else right now." Mal is practically swaying; I can tell he's exhausted and I have a lot to make up for.

"You sleep," I tell him "I'll wake you later."

We huddle together under the sleeping bag and rest ourselves against the backpack. The Capitol seal appears in the sky but the only death is the girl from Seven; I steel myself for the coming darkness and stare into the shadows.


	5. Chapter 5: Team

Day Four

Cass

No-one sleeps.

I don't know what was in the syringe that saved my life but there must've been a pretty powerful painkiller, and it wore off sometime in the night. A trail of fiery pain runs down my right cheek, curls around my neck and gives me feverish tremors but, as much as it hurts, it can't compare to the icy stabs of agony that I feel in my useless eye.

Mal comforts me with bites of food and sips of water but I know his patience is wearing thin; he wants us to hike further away from this area in case the rain starts up again and, sometime around mid-morning, I realise I can't wallow in self-pity any longer. If we stay in one place any longer we'll be considered too boring to watch and become another target for the Gamemakers. We trudge together, he at the fore with his knife and me at the back, gripping my hook and frantically turning my head towards my blind side every few seconds.

I think Mal notices my despondency; he puts his free arm around my shoulders and kisses the side of my head. I push him away "you stink" I tell him with a grimace.

"What?!" He sniffs his underarms with a smirk "I smell as fresh as the morning rain, you can't get this level of scent in Eleven…"

We pause when we hear oncoming footsteps; they crash behind us and we spin, brandishing our weapons and searching for the source of the sound. Soon enough I spot the girl from Nine; she is bleeding from gashes on her neck and her face is red with exertion, she barrels towards us, barely even registering our existence, and slams into my shoulder. She stumbles and grunts with frustration but it barely slows her gait.

An arrow whistles through the air and lands at our feet; in the trees I can see the boy from District Two, he reaches into his quiver for another arrow and I come to my senses. Mal grips my arm and I feel him pull me forwards; we run with the District Nine girl, zigging and zagging as much as the trees will allow. I veer naturally towards my left side and allow my good eye to guide me through the trees and away from the patches of soft marsh. An arrow whizzes over my head and I see I have separated from the others, the District Nine girl has shot ahead and Mal is darting away to my right.

Our attacker, the District Two boy, has a decision to make; he can't follow us all and I scurry behind a large tree as I see him take off after my brother. Mal is quick, but I know he's exhausted; the District Two boy hooks his bow across his body and draws a large hunting knife from a sheath on his thigh.

I don't need to make a conscious decision, Mal didn't abandon me and I won't leave him now. All pain in my head is forgotten as I scurry to meet the brooding figure bearing down on my brother, whilst a nagging voice tells me that my hook is no match for the boy's knife.

The three of us run in a strange formation; Mal holds his lead and I try desperately to close the gap between myself and the boy from District Two.

Eventually Mal's legs buckle and he falls to the ground; my thighs burn and I push ahead. I can see Mal trying to right himself but the District Two boy kicks him to the ground and plants a foot into his abdomen. They grapple together, each trying to use their knife but neither finding the advantage over the other; Mal slashes wildly and the boy jumps backwards, giving my brother the opportunity to jump to his feet. But then he counters him with a nasty backhand and stabs forwards with his own knife, opening a gash across Mal's collarbone and causing him to scream out in pain.

With the gap closed I find myself nearing the conflict without a plan or even a serious weapon; in desperation I stab the pointed end of my hook into the boy's shoulder and he swipes around at me with his knife. Mal sees his opportunity and thrusts his own knife into the boy's neck, blood sprays and Mal stabs him again and again until the boy groans, chokes and falls to his knees; eyes bulging and blood drenched fingers clawing at his throat.

Mal

The boy chokes to death in less than a minute but, even when the cannon sounds, I just stand, staring at the body. Cass gently pulls me away; she gives me some water to drink and washes my chest wound. I help her to search the boy's backpack and take the knife from his hand; we leave the bow because neither of us can use one, so it's better to have the weapon out of the arena.

The boy's supplies include more grain, water and bandages; we divide them between our bags before moving away and allowing his body to be collected, there is a strangely pleasant rush of air as the hovercraft flies away. Now, there are ten of us left.

We continue our hike in silence, I risk a look sideways at Cass and note her watery eyes, we are surely on camera and it's no time for tears. Later there will be darkness and time to think about what I've done and the kind of person I am in this arena. For now, I clench my fist and dig my nails into the fleshy part of my hand. Cass holds her own small hand out to me and I give it a grateful squeeze.

I managed at least another couple of hours walking quietly before exhaustion forces us to stop; the waning adrenaline has left us nauseous and empty. Cass vomits heavily and I pinch the bridge of my nose in a vain attempt to stop the world from spinning. My stomach is sore and tender where the District Two boy stamped on me; I poke it a little with my finger and wish I had some pills to prevent swelling.

There is still some daylight left but we can't keep going any more.

"Where do we sleep?" I ask Cass

"No more trees," she tells me "don't trust the moss."

I nod in agreement; the lush arena looks different to me now, no longer verdant and bursting with life-saving flora, now it seems ominous and menacing.

We trudge onwards until we find a seepage thicket; groundwater surrounded by sharp, thorny ferns and bracken. This suits us fine and we set to work, wrapping clothing around our hands so we can weed the ground and create a small sleeping space. Its quick work and soon we can settle on a slightly damp patch of ground. I put some grain in a pot and add water before setting it aside to let it swell into a tasteless porridge; we eat the last of the bread rolls while we wait and then use our fingers to devour the pot of cold mush.

I tell Cass to sleep and she burrows her head into her rucksack, sobbing quietly, I stare into the distance and pretend not to hear.

The humid air darkens and Capitol seal precedes only the image of the boy from District Two; a light patter of rain begins and I jump to my feet, ready to wake Cass and run, but it's just normal precipitation. I let it cover my face before I allow myself a few silent tears.


	6. Chapter 6: Plan

Cass

Mal nudges me in the rib and tells me, not unkindly, that he needs to sleep. I obediently leave the sleeping bag and shuffle over, allowing my brother to curl up inside; I move his hair from his forehead and he reaches up to squeeze my hand.

I wrap my blanket around me and look out at my surroundings. Night shrouds the arena and I wonder if it's possible to have different shades of black; a lighter black in the nearby shadows and a deep, sucking blackness in the trees beyond. If I close my right eye then I experience another black, an overwhelming nothingness that resists all light, it scares me and I quickly reopen my good eye.

The hours pass uneventfully and I see the grey light of an early dawn.

Day Five

With the terror of yesterday behind me, I feel both weary and restless at the same time. More than anything I would love to fall asleep in my soft bed, back in the training centre; I stretch my arms and roll my shoulders, thinking wistfully of rich food, plump cushions and warm showers.

I occupy myself with our supplies, Mal is asleep on his pack and I know his bag contains some bandages, water, four grain pouches, waxed matches, cooking pot and the syringes. I have water, rope, my little net and two pouches of grain. Thankfully, we each have a knife. All my foraged plants have been eaten or lost in the panic of yesterday; I look down at Mal's sleeping form and cover him with my blanket.

Next, I pick my way out of the bracken and survey our little hiding place; the spiky bushes are thick and it's difficult to see my brother's curled body. The floor is muddy and my feet make a squishing sound as I tramp through the undergrowth. I find a patch of creeping dogwood snaking around the base of a tree and, at arms length, I pull as much out as I can. Next, I gather mushrooms and berries, packing them carefully into my bag so they don't bruise. Finally I risk moving under the shade of a huge elm to gather some dry sticks, bundling them together with my rope and lashing them around my back.

When I return to Mal I am surprised to find him still sleeping, I half expected him to be sulking at my wandering off.

"Mal…Mal…Mal…" I hiss at him and reach out to shake his shoulder. He awakes with a grunt and starts to pull his knife; I jump backwards and put up my hands.

"Sorry, I just wanted the matches, and we need to change your bandage."

He wipes the sleep from his eyes and groans as he tries to sit up, clutching his stomach. I take the matches from his bag and, with some sweating and swearing, start a small fire using my kindling.

"When did you get all this?" Mal asks, chewing one of my foraged mushrooms.

"I didn't go far…" I slap Mal's hand as he sighs with frustration and continue in a quiet tone "…we need more food."

He nods and I decide to push him a little further "When you're feeling better I think we should hike closer to the cornucopia…where the streams are wider…for fishing with my net."

Mal is quiet but I see him nodding, we'll likely face more tributes and it'll be easier if we're well fed.

Mal

Cass tries to be gentle as she cleans my chest wound but it still burns; the used bandage is stained red with blood but it smells and looks clean so at least there's no sign of a festering infection.

My stomach is taut with pain and a purple bruise shines across my dark skin. I try to stand but it's so painful that I double over, fall to my knees and wish I could stab myself with the same painkilling drug that I gave Cass, but we can't afford to waste the supplies we have left.

I have to use the bathroom and my face burns with embarrassment as Cass helps me to pull my trousers up and down; I'm not prudish but I feel ashamed that my little sister is stronger than I am and I wonder what is being said back home.

We share a bag of grain and I ask her "How do you think they think we're doing? Our parents and the rest of Eleven?"

She tips her head to the side "I guess they're glad we're alive and mostly whole. I think they're glad we have each other too, it's sad but…I don't want to be in here on my own." Cass' voice is so small and I see a shade of her from the outside, the girl who has to be walked home from the town square. I take her hand "I know what you mean, I suppose, in a weird way, I'm glad you're here too."

Around midday Cass starts to snooze on her backpack and I don't stop her. The air is wet but at least the clouds of flies don't bother us here in our nest of brambles. I chew a leaf and stare into the sky, a misty cloud covers the sun and I eye it carefully for signs of rain.

The day passes slowly, painfully but uneventfully. In the evening, Cass changes my bandage once more and I, in turn, check her eye for signs of infection.

"It looks clean, no weeping, it's just strange compared to your other eye, sort of unfocused. Does it hurt?" I ask.

"Not really, it did for a few hours but now it just itches." She gives me a tired shoulder shrug and says "I suppose we'd know if it was infected."

I agree and we share some mushrooms, berries and another bag of our precious grain; I hope I can walk tomorrow, our supplies are far too low for us to continue here.

As the night draws in I decide to remain on watch, Cass should sleep more during the dark as her vision is already compromised enough. She stays awake long enough to see the Capitol seal; no deaths today.

"They won't like that in the Capitol" she warns me gravely.

I nod "Something will have to happen tomorrow…or I suppose they'll make it happen."


	7. Chapter 7: Chain

Day Six

Cass

We rise early, before dawn, and break our fast on the last of my foraged food. I'm nervous that I've made a bad decision in pushing Mal to travel towards the cornucopia, but we've only walked for a couple of hours before the puddles of water turn into thin, green streams and Mal gets his hands on a few fat bullfrogs.

"Yes!"

I smile at the combination of his glee and the sad weight of another perished frog in my waiting, open bag.

"How are you so much better at this than me?" I ask incredulously "They just slip through my fingers"

"You have to be still…you're too shaky." He jibes me and cleans the mud from his hands in the algae covered water before wiping the green residue onto his trousers.

"Shall we cook them?" I ask; my stomach rumbles impatiently "The sun's up, we could build a fire under one of the trees to cover the smoke?"

Mal chews his lip as he deliberates. "No…too risky and I'm too hungry. Here…" he hands me a plump, brown frog.

Only a week ago, back in the loving home of my family, I might've gagged but we just tear at the slimy flesh with our teeth; I even suck the bones before I drop them on the ground.

Mal

As the sun peaks we slow down and our steps become more cautious. With our knives held tightly in our hands we stare furtively into the trees for signs of other tributes; all the joviality of this morning is forgotten and we speak in hushed voices or stay silent.

We are still some way from the cornucopia but the closer we get, the more likely we are to run into the others. As I walk I look more closely at the trees; the lichen is different, lighter, and the bark doesn't have the same look at those which attacked us a couple of days ago. I wonder if the Game makers used the trees to herd us and keep us close to the action.

The streams of water are getting clearer and my feet feel unstable on the marshy ground.

"I think we're close enough now; we can get frogs and I bet there are fish in some of the bigger streams."

Cass nods in agreement and adds "We just need to find somewhere concealed to stay."

The vegetation is softer here; there are more leafy plants and fewer of the thorny brambles that made us feel secure last night. A bit of searching leads us to a fragrant pond, similar to the body of water where we started but smaller, only fifty feet or so across. I spy a circle of boulders and tell Cass about the lizards I saw a few days ago.

"They looked like rocks at first and then they came snapping out of the ground."

Cass gathers some sticks and smaller rocks from the floor and throws them at the boulders, watching for movement as they bounce off the stone. Feeling confident, we edge nearer and give them a couple of kicks with the flat of our boots, until we are sure they aren't going to move.

"This is as good a place as any" Cass tells me and sits down heavily, leaning against her pack. "You should rest; I'll get some water and see if there are any fish in the pond."

My eyelids are heavy and a tired nausea mingles with the frogs digesting in my stomach, but I don't feel comfortable sleeping with Cass otherwise occupied and I keep my knife ready as she bends over the pond to fill our containers. I watch as she skims the net through the water and, not for the first time, I'm shocked at the change in her since the beginning of the Games; I wonder if I am different too.

I'm still wondering when I hear the voices.

Cass

I squeal as Mal's hand clamps over my mouth; he has my backpack in his other hand and beckons for me to drop down to the floor.

He doesn't need to explain why we're hiding; I soon hear the hushed conversation through the trees.

"I doubt it…probably get infected anyway." Someone speaks quietly and I can see the red-hair of the District One boy, Tryst, as he walks near to the treeline. Following him are the shapes of the District Four boy and Bates, the District Seven boy I spoke to during training.

Mal tugs on my shirt and slides backwards into the soft, wet mud of the pond; I try to follow him but I cringe as I hear a soft splash of water against my boots.

The hunting pack doesn't shout, they don't come bursting through the trees, but we know they must have heard us and so we spring to our feet as quickly as we can. I hear Mal grimace in pain from his wounds but he still carries my pack as he runs. The soft footfalls behind us tell me that the hunters are close; they splash through the little estuaries and I hear a whistle as something whizzes past my ear.

Mal is struggling, he can't keep hold of both packs and I see him turn, swinging my bag wide on the strap and hurling it at our pursuers. He hits the feet of the District Four boy, causing him to stumble and fall, but we both know that this isn't a solution. There are too many chasing us and they're too strong.

"Climb! Cass climb!" Mal calls to me and I stop to lunge at a thick branch, gasping for breath and with hot tears pricking my eyes. I scurry upwards…focusing on my hand placement and trying not to look back.

Mal

I throw down my pack and swing around with my knife; I connect with Tryst's forearm as he arches downwards with a long, heavy metal chain that he has wrapped around his hand. Tryst shrugs off my attack and kicks me heavily in the stomach, whipping the chain across my upper body and sending waves of pain radiating throughout my chest.

The chain hits me again and again, splitting my lip, knocking the wind from my lungs and leaving me in a huddle on the floor as I try desperately to protect my head.

Cass

Tears come thick and fast but I don't know what to do! I don't know how to help him! Tryst must want to give the audience a show because I can see several knives hanging in a belt around his waist; he's just drawing it out, torturing my brother for sick pleasure or the hope of reward.

The trees have a strange kind of seed pod hanging in the upper branches; they're a dark hue and heavy enough that I need to use both hand to pull them from the tree. The weight makes it difficult to aim but I heave them down to the marshy floor, hoping to hit Tryst or the District Four boy that waits behind him, rooting through my discarded pack. I miss both tributes…I'm too far away and all I can hear are the sick thunks of the chain against my brother's torso.

Adrenaline surges and I feel renewed with purpose. I stand, gingerly, and reach out to the tree next to me, risking a jump onto the neighbouring branch. I need my knife to cut through the seed pod on this tree but it's worth the effort and, after I shove it away from me, I look down just in time to see it make contact with Tryst's head. The crack is strangely loud in the softness of the landscape and Tryst falls forwards, not yet dead but twitching with unfocused eyes and a slack jaw.

Mal

My body is a canvas of agony but the cannon that signals Tryst's demise brings me back to the world and, more importantly, the boy from District Four. I see him turn from rummaging through our supplies and suddenly notice he's alone against me; I'm half dead and struggling for breath but, as I take Tryst's chain and wrap it around my hand, I see the boy's eyes widen in fear. He backs away from me, his weapon, a curved machete-style knife, lies on the ground and he obviously regrets trusting Tryst to just take me down without assistance.

I lash out, my shoulder sings with torment but I make a stand anyway. The District Four boy stumbles backwards and turns to flee, I watch him run and then my knees tremble and give way. I lie on my back and look upwards for Cass, just in time to see her fall.

I am frozen in a state of bewilderment until I see Bates, the District Nine boy, clinging onto a branch at the top of the tree. He doesn't give a cruel smile and the easy charm that he displayed in the Training Centre is gone, instead he looks like someone who just wants to go home.

Cass lies close to me, a curved knife sticking out of her neck, she breathes a few small, raspy breaths and the then she is gone. I drag myself to my feet and hold both the chain and machete, ready to face Bates when he descends…but he doesn't.

Instead he leaps to the next tree, and the next, and the next.

"Come back!" I scream as I limp after him, hopeless and desperate for revenge. "Come back! Fight me…fight me…fight me" I cry over and over until the words become nothing more than a guttural sob that mingles with snot and tears. I follow until I hear a strange whistle behind me; the hovercraft has come for Cass' body…they can't take her, I have to stay with her!

The floor is clear of bodies; sad, red stains mark the marsh where Tryst and Cass spent their last moments. Greif overwhelms me and I feel my body is a mere painful shell for the emptiness inside. I throw my weapons down and lie on the spot were my little sister died; clutching a handful of the marsh and wailing into the ground.

I don't know how long I lie there but I turn to the sky when I hear the fanfare that signals the Capitol seal. Tryst's photo shines down on me for a moment but Cass' image seems to last forever, I try to search the whole photo with my eyes and burn it into my brain.

When will her body reach Eleven? I wonder if my parents be waiting at the train station in the morning, ready to see her dressed in the white robe that adorns fallen tributes. Will our neighbours and friends take care of Flo while my parents see the body? Or will Flo get one last chance to see her sister?

The mental image of my family rouses me; we have all lost Cass today but I can't languish to death in front of them, they don't deserve that. My body hurts too much to move far but I try to show willing by crawling to a stream and cleaning the gashes on my face and body. I drink a little water and then sit, clutching the machete between my hands, trying not to look hopeless.


	8. Chapter 8: Latency

Day Seven

I don't sleep; I know that I should but I can't. The aches in my chest and shoulders are second only to the ache in my heart. I grapple with my discarded backpack, desperate for powerful pain relief from the syringes I used for Cass' eye, but when I insert my hand into the bag I feel only shards at the bottom. I curse loudly and throw my head into my hands, kicking my bag and stamping on the ground.

A torrent of emotion flows through me like a river; I rage against the night, cry at the light of the dawn and sit, huddled and numb, when the sun's rays touch my limbs. Before the fullness of morning I start to list the remaining tributes in my mind; the girls from One, Two, Three and Nine; the boys from Four and Eight and, of course, Bates from Seven.

Eight of us left; seven more deaths until I can board the train home and never look back again. I know from previous Games that they are probably interviewing my parents and friends; asking if they have any special messages for me…if they blame me for losing Cass.

"Don't let her suffer," my father's final words to me echo throughout my brain.

Did Cass watch Bates climb ever closer? Did she try to shake the branches and leap to another tree? I didn't pay attention to her body yesterday- did she have scratches from the fight on her arms and face?

I have to make it to the end and see for myself on the footage.

The faint sound of snapping catches my more immediate attention and an innate need to survive forces me to move away from this place. I look down at the place Cass fell but I don't whisper a goodbye because she's not there, she's dressed in white and with the people who love her. There will be a place for me to say goodbye in District Eleven.

I hike east, unwilling to go too far from the life giving rivers, but I am careful to keep my new machete gripped firmly in my hand. There is a ball of anger, fear and despair that lies in the pit of my stomach and refuses to dissipate; I hack at low hanging vines and, as a gentle hiss becomes louder, I notice a long, green snake coiled around a short branch. My blade makes short work of the creature and I throw caution to the wind, build a fire and cook it; a thin branch makes an excellent skewer and I feel energised by the smell of the cooked meat. I kick over my embers and push on through the twinges in my torso until I fall to my knees and know I have nothing left.

For the first time in days I worry about closing my eyes; the late afternoon shadows are long and pregnant with potential dangers. There's no one to watch my back…but then there's no one really left. How big is the arena anyway? Do the trees and vines attack anyone who travels too far from the cornucopia? Or were Cass and I just unlucky?

I consider climbing but I've never had Cass' skill and, besides, I've lost any faith from previous Games that safety lies in being high up. Instead I find a patch of ground with good foliage and little space between the trees. I use my pack as padding and sit back to watch the day turn into night.

A drifting sleep mixes reality with dreamscape and I have a vague awareness of the Capitol seal with no tribute pictures, so no deaths today, but then I sink deeper into unconsciousness and I see Cass' picture, waving at me from the sky.

When I awake, the arena is still shrouded in the inky darkness of night. There is rustling on the forest floor and I feel a pinch as an insect with fierce looking mandibles climbs onto my hand; I shake it away and stamp on it with my boot. For a while I think I may struggle to fall back to sleep but I know I do because, in my dreams, I dodge a rainfall made of knives.

Day Eight

The morning air feels relatively fresh and almost cold compared to previous days in the arena. I still have sweat on my skin where my pack was pressed against me in the night but it evaporates quickly as I stand and wiggle the numbness from my toes.

Standing upright hurts and I bite my lip to stop from moaning when I stretch my shoulders; I can't imagine how I look, but my face still feels swollen from my beating and I'm limping a little on my right ankle.

I finish my stored water and search out one of the tiny streams, feeling a renewed gladness that this Arena is not an arid landscape of sand dunes. My stomach growls and I wish I had another snake to decapitate, the memory of warm meat makes my mouth water; Cass was best at foraging but I search out some creeping dogwood and strip the bland fruit for a sorry breakfast. I decide to spend the morning catching frogs and digging worms; my stomach feels queasy from the recent small meals of raw bullfrog so I resolve to be bolder and light another fire.

The day passes in a strange, numb tedium and culminates in a frog supper over a crackling fire; the meat is strong and full of fat that I can suck from the bones before launching them away from me and listening for the soft splash of the river.

My latest campsite lies on the bank of a moderately large stream and I have found a decent patch of brambles which, as long as I lie flat, should conceal me for the night. The evening draws in, quiet and strangely cold; I rub my hands together and tuck them under my arms, ashamed of how much I'm hoping that there have been deaths today.

No such luck, the Capitol seal appears and then fades, letting a night pregnant with terror wash over me. Two days without deaths; the Captiol citizens must be bored, claiming that these Games are dragging and complaining that no-one wants to watch us make camps and cook frogs.


	9. Chapter 9: Feast

Day Nine

I'm surprised when I awake. Part of me thought the Gamemakers would send some terror in the night to force me out of the brambles and into the waiting weapons of other tributes. Perhaps they still will…I've no doubt the Capitol are just sleeping in.

The morning air is definitely colder than it was yesterday and I know the Gamemakers are behind it; in last year's Games, the television hosts mentioned they were using the wind to spread a poison cloud that killed all the fish in the river.

I empty my bladder, refill my water container and then finish the meagre leftovers of last night's frog supper. Next, I wander down to the river and start to dig through the soil, searching for worms to use as fishing bait or, at least, more frogs. The marsh is hard and small stones chip my nails as I rake my fingers through the ground; it forces me to sit back on my knees and catch my breath.

The sun climbs higher but the air gets colder and a stiff breeze whips around me. A scream is cut off by the sound of cannon; I groan as I stand upright and brandish my machete, waiting for someone to come barrelling through the trees….but no-one comes. The day passes slowly and I find little to fill my belly; a couple of stringy worms and a few sweet roots that I think might be burdock. In the late afternoon I shiver back to my hiding space and wait for the gnawing in my stomach to end; I wish I'd garnered some sponsorship but I suppose there are too many strong, popular tributes left.

At least there has been a death today. The evening sky is lit first with the Capitol seal, and then the training photo of the Girl from District Nine; another one down, another step closer to home.

Day Ten

I don't know how I become aware of the tribute creeping around my campsite but I feel my heart racing and I try my best to keep my breathing steady.

Do they know I'm here? Or are they just picking their way through the forest, looking for somewhere safe to sleep?

The coldness of the arena has made the marsh much harder and I can hear an odd rustle of leaves, almost as if one leg is being dragged behind the other. When the tribute snaps a twig they pause and I hear their breath, nervous and quick; I realise they are stalking me, they know I'm here and they're worried I might have heard them.

I don't want to risk moving just yet; the tribute would've thrown a ranged weapon by now so I assume they have a knife or sword and are hoping to get close without waking me. The handle of my machete is reassuringly heavy on my palm and I know I just need to close my fingers around it and swing….they just need to be close enough.

I let another fifteen seconds trickle past and, when I smell the unwashed scent of a human, I simultaneously roll into a kneeling position whilst brandishing my machete and opening my eyes fully. I jump back as something swipes in front of me and, instinctively, kick the ashes of my fire upwards, pleased that the other figure jumps backwards as well.

Ondine, Tryst's District partner, stands before me; her once glorious mane of blonde hair is matted and green with algae residue. She sways slightly and holds a cruel looking spiked mace in her right hand. She's alone, does this mean the alliance is over?

"No friends?" I ask…backing up slowly and creating more space between us.

"No-one has friends here" She practically growls the answer at me and then, a split second later, she charges…head down with the mace raised above her head. I try to lunge at her with the machete but hit her in the side of the head with the flat of the blade; it's enough to knock her sideways and I spot some kind of barbed wire wrapped around one of her ankles, which must be the reason for her foot dragging. Ondine comes back around, swinging the mace, she roars with aggression and hits me in my side with a thump; I cry out as the spikes gouge at my bony frame but, as I stumble backwards, I realise the weight of the mace hasn't gone, its stuck in my side. Panting in pain I spy Ondine lunging forwards with her arm outstretched, I hack downwards, and keep a firm hold of my weapon; the machete scores a deep gash in her forearm. She yelps and pulls back but I can't stop…the adrenaline fuelled fury of the attack won't ebb and I bring my machete down again, and again on her skull; a splitting thunk tells me she's dead long before the cannon, but its only when the mace falls to the floor, that I stop.

I heave but there's little enough in my stomach already so I try to resist the urge to vomit, taking slow breaths and small sips of water. I'm not sickened by the sight of Ondine's corpse but the feeling of blood loss from my torso; I inspect the mace, the spikes are around two inches long and made of a smooth metal. Ondine doesn't have a backpack, leading me to think she had to move quickly once the alliance fell apart, but she does have a woollen hat and gloves. I'm starting to shiver from shock so I put them on and sit down to search the rest of her pockets; turning up only a small water bottle and a packet of salted beef strips. I stow the mace and food in my bag and crawl away from her body, literally on my hands and knees, to pull off my clothes and survey my wounds. There are three puncture wounds, bleeding fairly freely, in my side; my clothes have stuck to them and I can see threads poking out of the holes.

My stomach sinks, I can wash this with water but the wound is probably already teeming with bacteria and it won't be long before infection sets in. I put my head in my hands, it was all for nothing, between my injury and the lack of food I'll never outlast the other tributes.

"Tributes!"

A voice booms across the sky, loud enough that I could believe the announcer is hidden behind a nearby tree.

"You have battled hard and now only six of you remain; we have prepared for you a grand feast where you will find everything you need to last through these remaining days. The feast will commence at dawn tomorrow morning and you will find it at the starting point of the Games, the glorious cornucopia. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favour."

I don't know whether to feel relieved or terrified; the feast could be just the thing to thin out the competition but I'll have to go there myself to get food. There could even be a stitching kit, anti-infection medication…blankets, matches and dry, clean clothes…I want those supplies so much!

But I'll never survive the fight, the bleeding stops only when I am applying pressure to the wounds and I feel light-headed whenever I try to stand. I groan with pain and indecision but my spirits are soon lifted; about a foot away from me, on a lichen covered rock, a silver canister sits attached to a clean, white parachute.

"Argh.." I gasp, twisting and stretching to reach for the canister. My fingers tremble with shock and excitement; a sponsor! Someone out there wants me to have a chance! Maybe it's the medication I need, maybe someone wants me to wait it out and survive!

My glee ends when I see what I have been sent; a stitching kit, clean bandage and a large bar of something which smells like rolled oats and honey. I ravenously take a huge bite and the weight of the heavy food hits my stomach like a stone, I don't want to be sick so I wrap it up and put it to the side.

Stitching is hard, not least because it is so painful that I have to bite down on my hat to keep from screaming. By the end, my fingers are slippery with blood and my side aches from twisting to reach the wound furthest from my hands. I drink water, lie back and chew tiny strips of dried beef.

The message is clear, my sponsor isn't interested in watching me survive the Games in hiding, they want me to patch myself up, get to the feast and then split more skulls for their entertainment.

What other choice do I have? The puncture wounds are still at risk of infection and the temperature is getting colder and colder, I need to eat, I need to be warm but, mainly, I need to go home.

I don't think I'm too far from the cornucopia, maybe a few hours walk, I'm tempted to wait awhile so I can rest and eat…but I know that this is a luxury I can ill afford. Tributes will be making their way to the feast and I can't risk one of them stumbling over my sleeping frame; it's better if I get to the cornucopia and find somewhere to hide.

I stagger a little as I stand, worrying that any jolting move might tear my stitches. I keep my pack on one shoulder to help keep the pressure off my injured side and force myself to put one foot in front of the other, keeping a slow but steady pace that lasts me for hours.

For a while I worry that I might be headed in the wrong direction but the smell of fresh water lilies soon reassures me and I see the glint of the cornucopia in the lazy sunlight of late afternoon. My shoulders hang heavily and I know that soon, whether I want to or not, I will fall asleep; the foliage here is so lush and thick that I have no trouble in finding somewhere to huddle, I have just enough time to tuck up my knees and put on my gloves before I plunge into sleep.


	10. Chapter 10: Burn

Day Eleven

Deep sleep doesn't hold me for more than a couple of hours; once my initial weariness wears off I snooze then awake regularly in grips of panic that I might've missed the feast. Any residual tiredness I feel has ebbed and, by the time the sky is full of indigo streaks that predict the coming dawn, I have already eaten the last of my dried beef, drank a bottle of water and found a way of relieving my bladder without having to stand up and reveal my location.

Come on, come on, come on… I mouth the words silently, ready for whatever is going to happen; my machete is gripped in my right hand and I rise up out of my hiding place, rocking on the balls of my feet at the edge of the treeline.

The sky lightens and brightens, it moves through shades of red and orange until a pale yellow illuminates the huge pond where I stood, a little over a week ago, and lost sight of Cass in the bloodbath. I chew my lip and wonder what's taking so long; the feast was meant to start at dawn so what are they waiting for? The cornucopia is easily reachable from here, should I wade through the water and see if I've missed something on the other side?

I'm just working up the courage to sneak forwards and take a closer look when a long, metal block rises up from the water, piled high with the same style of waterproof bags that Cass and I found on the first day. This is unfair! I could fight my way in there for a bag containing nothing useful!

I can't waste anymore time; I start to splash forwards, I'd imagined myself sprinting through the shallow water but, instead, I lurch with an uneasy gait. My eyes flit side to side and I manage to get my left arm through the string of a bag when I feel a stabbing pain in my calf; the boy from District Four is lying in wait under the waterline and now his knife sticks in my leg. I react with a shout as he pulls out the weapon and I stamp down on his face, but he moves swiftly, and soon his huge frame looms over me. The bag sags in the crook of my arm and I splash backwards, the boy has a short sword in his right hand and he slashes at my face and body, I counter as best I can with my machete and actually manage to draw blood on his forearm. But it's not enough…the boy is too big and too strong. He uses his left hand to draw my focus and then kicks me square in the chest, I fall backwards and I think that this is probably it for me, I only hope my parents don't see the fear in my eyes.

A cannon sounds but, strangely, it's not for me; somewhere in the periphery of my vision I am aware of the girl from District Two being enthusiastically disembowelled by the girl from District Three. I don't know if the strong tributes were still banded together but the girl's death is enough to draw the attention of the District Four boy, just for a moment, and I take my slim advantage. I kick him in the ankle and he lands in the water as I groan to my feet; my machete tears his upper body and opens wound after wound in his neck and chest. When I hear the cannon I look up, the blood-spattered girl from Three stabs a mace into the boy from District Eight and pushes him onto the floor; but she doesn't attack any further, instead she grabs three of the bags and turns to run north, perhaps making her way back to somewhere she feels safe…that seems like a good idea to me.

I still have the bag I originally grabbed from the table and I reach down to scoop up another, trapped beneath the corpse of the boy from District Four. He's large and difficult to move but the bag isn't hooked around him so I pull it out with relative ease. I notice the water around my ankles is turning red as the knife wound in my calf bleeds freely, I hope there are more bandages in these supply bags as it seems I will need them.

The District Eight boy is on his feet, shaking and bleeding but searching industriously through a bag; for one lonely, ridiculous minute, I consider asking if he wants an ally. We could hunt down the District Three girl together and share the supplies in these bags…the feeling doesn't last and, anyway, it wouldn't be like it was with Cass, this tribute means nothing to me, I certainly don't trust him.

The supplies feel reassuringly heavy and I doubt I'll need to travel far to be able to inspect them in relative safety; two deaths should hold the audience for the rest of the day and give me a chance to stitch up my new wound as well as re-dress my old one. I limp through the green water until I reach the spongey marsh of the treeline, the soft ground feels good under my feet and I let out a huge sigh of relief…I'd woken today expecting much worse.

I'm not sure what makes me look up into the trees but, when I tip my head backwards, I spy Bates hanging onto some vines above me; I don't recall seeing him at the actual feast, he must've decided he had better odds waiting for a lone tribute to travel away with supplies.

Bates lands heavily on my back; I feel a rush of air and twist my head as a hatchet sticks in the marsh directly next to my ear. All I can do is wriggle, kick my legs backwards and try to avoid the heavy blade that he wants to stick into my skull. Seconds feel like hours but my mad panic dislodges him enough to free my arm and I flail wildly for my machete, kicking and squirming until a sudden sickness hits the pit of my stomach…the hatchet has landed in the marsh and taken off the little finger of my left hand.

"Aaah!" I scream more from shock than pain, though I imagine there will be plenty of that later once the adrenaline has ebbed. I find energy from goodness knows where and pull my knees up under my stomach, giving me enough force to push up wards and cause Bates to roll off my back. He pulls himself to his feet, as do I, and we have a brief moment to size each other up; Bates is pale and shaking, not just from exertion but in pain. Its then I realise that his right arm is tucked inside his shirt, as if he wants to keep it still against his chest; is that why he was clinging onto vines in a tree rather than fighting at the feast? Is the shoulder dislocated or has he broken his arm? Bates swings at me with the hatchet, panting and sweating, but I step back and counter with my machete. The exchange is brief and he turns to run, like last time, perhaps hoping that I won't pursue him with my injured calf or that I won't risk losing more digits until I've healed my wounds. But my adrenaline is high and I don't feel anything except the pain of losing Cass and the guilt of letting her die; I won't let Bates run from this. The boy scampers backwards a while, lashing out every now and then with his weapon, but his eyes are losing focus; whatever he has done to his arm its taking all his strength to stay upright and I think he only really had the element of surprise as his final strategy. I chase him down and swipe at the back of his neck, he falls forwards and I try to stab the machete into his back…but its too blunt now. Instead I take the hatchet from his unresisting hand and heave it into the back of his head.

I don't know what I expect to feel, vindication maybe, but I don't. The panic and anger that has fuelled me this far abandons me when I see my finger on the floor behind me, I pick it up and consider keeping it- if I win could they reattach it? I don't know if it's fuzzy thinking or insanity but I put it in my pocket anyway, it feels wrong just leaving it on the floor.

My finger stub bleeds freely and my forearm is coloured a deep red, right now I desperately hope there is something in these bags for my hand and calf. I retreat far enough away to allow the Captiol to collect Bates' body and then paw through the bags; I don't know what I'm looking for exactly, maybe a decent stitching kit, but I spot a small, ziplock bag with a medical symbol printed on the sides. I use my teeth to open it and tip the contents out on the ground and….yes! I see exactly what I need and it fills me with a mixture of relief and fear.

Once, back in Eleven, I saw a boy fall out of a tree; he was picking fruit in the highest branches and, amazingly, survived his fall. But, when the peacekeeper walked over, he saw a large, sharp stick hanging out of the boy's thigh, he pulled it out and then paled as the bleeding started…bleeding that wouldn't stop. It's fortunate that we were in the North Orchard because there's a medic post there and they stock real equipment from the Capitol. A medic ran over with what looked like a short, bronze pen but, when he uncapped it, the end was flat metal; the medic clicked the top and started to apply it to the wound in short bursts. The boy screamed and I could smell the burning, but the wound sealed and he was transported back to his family in the town.

I steel myself, because I know this is going to hurt, and click the end. It heats within seconds and I take a deep breath through my nostrils, then I touch it to the open wound where my finger used to be. I don't scream…I pant, stamp and urinate in my trousers…but I don't scream. I repeat the process until I am satisfied that there is no more bleeding and then sit back on the marsh, burying my face into my shirt so I can have some privacy to cry a few silent tears.

After a few moments I think to look at the rest of the contents from the medical bag and I spy a tiny pot of salve that I hope is for burns. I unscrew it and gingerly dip in the stub of my finger, immediately it feels soothed and I find the strength to face the stab wound on my leg. I use water to free it from where it has already started to stick to my trousers but, even with the salve open next to me, I have to work myself up to using the cauterisation tool again. This injury is deeper and takes longer to heal but I feel a little better for the burn medicine. I also find some strong pain pills and I take a goodly handful, washing them down with a full litre of water.

Once the medication kicks in I feel up to looking through the rest of my supplies and I'm pleased that the Game makers weren't lying about providing a feast. I have bags of dried fruit, dried strips of beef, a packet of crackers, a blanket, matches and more pain pills. Best of all I have some silver sachets of dehydrated meals; beef with noodles, chicken with apricots, lamb with mint sauce, I just need to add water and wait.

I want to tear into the food now but, as I look around me at the blood spatters on the ground, I realise that I can be tracked easily by any tribute or predator that wants to find me. I'm so tired but it's still early and I don't want to succumb to sleep here, I have to force myself to move on.

All the pain my brain shielded me from during the fight floods through me now and walking, even a short distance, has me panting with effort. I sit down heavily and look around me until I see a stick that looks useful to lean on. I repack the new supplies into my own pack and then drag the stick over to me, testing it with my weight as I stand. My movements are slow, hindered by pain and fatigue and, to be honest, I don't really know how far I travel. Eventually I fall forwards and crawl to a likely looking patch of vegetation; I add water to a dehydrated pack of lamb and count to sixty as I wait for it to be ready. Once I have swallowed the final bite I apply some more salve to my calf and finger then drag the blanket over me and plunge into sleep.


	11. Chapter 11: End

Day Twelve

I sleep a deep, drug-fuelled sleep, and I awake to a frosty morning. The tendrils of mist are laced with ice crystals and the vegetation is silvery with hoarfrost; the day glitters and dazzles but it also chills me to the bone and I can't resist the urge to start a fire. Well, surely this is the Gamemaker's plan? There are only three of us left…they don't want us hiding out, waiting for each tribute to die of hunger, thirst or exposure, they want us to make fires and cross paths so we can fight for them. And if we don't, I'm sure something is planned to draw us out of hiding and throw us together. Even so, there were three deaths yesterday and I hope this is enough to hold the Captiol audience's attention long enough to let me warm up.

My wishes are granted and the day is as quiet as it is cold; I fill my containers with water then place them near to the fire until the contents become tepid (I don't want to risk lowering my core body temperature.) I apply more ointment onto my finger stub and calf, the cold stings but I imagine it's good for reducing swelling. The ground has gone from being wet and spongey to hard and uncomfortable; I should find somewhere else to sleep tonight but I'm not rested enough for a journey, I pull my new blanket around me and shuffle closer to the fire. I pop a few more pain pills and let them pull me into a miserable sleep.

Day Thirteen

The sky announced no deaths last night and I awake to another frigid morning; the pain in my calf has ebbed somewhat but my finger stub aches and itches, leaving me in near constant discomfort. Even so, I resist the urge to take more pain medication; I don't want to be found sleeping if the Game makers send some horrendous mutt to entertain the bored Capitol citizens.

Instead, I eat some dried fruit, meat and drink plenty of water. I treat my injuries with the salve and try to walk upright, putting weight on my leg rather than limping or skirting along on the balls of my feet. I feel a bit more confident and I consider moving to a more defensible position. With only three tributes left it must be time to bring these Games to a close. I move slowly, hindered both by my leg and the long, wary stares I take around each tree; my machete is blunted but ready in my right hand, and the small hatchet I took from Bates nestles easily in my left.

I'm not exactly sure what kind of hideout I'm looking for, so far there has been little in the way of cover at ground level and I'm still loathe to climb the trees. I make steady progress but, by mid-afternoon, I have to stop. Ahead of me is a huge green wall of tangled vines, they wriggle as they tighten and overlap and, as I stretch a hand out gingerly towards them, I could swear that they hiss at me. I walk parallel to the wall for an hour until it becomes clear that it is guiding me back towards the cornucopia; I decide to sit a little way away from it but keep it in view at one side, then I prepare a dehydrated meal of beef with fluffy white rice and build a warm fire.

The light is just fading when I hear a strangled scream somewhere close by. I pick up my weapons and move cautiously through the long shadows of evening. At first I think the wall of vines is growing but then I see the boy from District Eight, trapped as vines burrow in and out of his chest. His face is gripped in torment and he chokes and gargles as the eerie greenery sucks his blood, feeding the pulsating wall.

I back away quietly, careful to avoid even the creepers that lie across the floor, seemingly separate from the wall. A cannon sounds as I gather my supplies and I shudder at the draw out death of the tribute from District Eight. I decide to walk through the night towards the cornucopia, not wanting to risk the wall of vines closing in on me in the darkness.

Day Fourteen

The terrain is difficult to navigate in the dark but the Capitol seal provides some light, as does the tribute photo of the boy from Eight, however, before long I am returned to the inky blackness of the arena. My mood swings as I walk, I feel exhausted but terrified, as if the final tribute will appear at any moment. Sometime after midnight the cold air makes my teeth chatter and I'm not sure if I can stand it all any longer, I might just sit here on the frozen ground and close my eyes. Then I see the cornucopia, glittering with frost in the icy air. It promises shelter but…what if the girl from Three is already here? What if she's lying in wait?

I can't afford to stand and wonder, my fingers are stiff and I will surely die of exposure if I sit out here all night without a fire…suddenly I realise that, if the girl was here, she would have a fire too. I decide to go for it and check out the cornucopia, hopefully the girl thinks I hunted down and killed the boy from Eight and that this makes me some kind of contender.

The cornucopia sits in a huge, shallow pond and the water leaks in through a hole in the bottom of my right boot, chilling my foot and making a sucking sound as I walk. I see the tables that held supplies during the feast and shovel the remaining dehydrated meals into my pack. The immediate area seems empty but I keep my weapons ready in my aching hands, just in case. The air inside of the cornucopia is chilly but at least it provides some shelter from the biting wind; I look around and find sleeping bags, spare clothes and even a warm overcoat that is still tied up with string. These supplies must've been dismissed by the initial strong pack of tributes, back when the arena was warm and wet, but now I dive into the pile with gusto and don a hat, coat and gloves, lamenting a little at the sagging space where my little finger should go.  
I huddle down into a corner of the cornucopia and look out at the opening, waiting for a sudden attack; how far away is she? Has the vine wall made it all the way around the arena yet? I don't know the answers but I must drift off while I contemplate them because I dream that the District Three girl appears, throwing snowflakes made of shards of glass.

I don't know what time it is when I awake but I don't move; instead I sit still in my warm huddle and listen for the splashing sound of an approaching tribute…but there is only a still silence. I empty my bladder, drink water and even find some tins containing food that heats as you crack the can open; sometime during my second helping of chicken swimming in a fragrant green sauce I hear a gentle splash. My heart races as I realise that this is it, there is no more running, the whole of Panem is watching this final moment and I will either go home or die.

The cornucopia was woefully short of weapons when I arrived last night, but I still have my machete and hatchet so I ready them now and stand at the doorway, waiting for the girl to appear. A blast of hot air throws me off guard and I leap sideways, throwing myself against the cornucopia's inner wall; my face narrowly misses the thick line of fire that blazes past my nose, filling the air with the pungent stench of oil and catching on the boxes and crates nearest the entrance.

The fire stops and I see the District Three girl; her face is greasy and smeared with blood and oil, her light brown hair is patchy and she has a thick piece of gauze wrapped around her right ear. The girl carries a stiff pouch that hangs over her shoulder, has a knife strapped to her thigh and she holds a flamethrower which has a thick leather body strap. The pilot light flares and I dive forwards, feeling another thick blast of flames over my back, I try unsuccessfully to roll into a standing position and end up shuffling backwards into the freezing pond water. She descends on me, struggling a little under the weight of the flamethrower, and fires again, and again. I skirt backwards, hoping that my sodden clothing may actually provide me some protection; but, when she fires once more, I feel a stinging scorch of pain across my cheek and I can't help but scream.

There are some supplies from the feast still scattered on the floor under the pond water and I grab them, throwing them at her in a crazed panic, hoping to make her drop the weapon and give me a chance to get close to her with my own. I throw a bottle of water and, by sheer luck, hit the injury on her ear, it must be extremely painful because she cries out and gives me enough time to stand and run back towards the cornucopia. I feel the heat of the flames at my back but make it round the back of the cornucopia and flatten myself against it. I draw my hatchet and realise that I have lost my machete somewhere; risking a look around the cornucopia, I see the girl is refilling a reservoir on the flamethrower…using the pouch that hangs from her shoulder. In this moment I know what to do; I try to mentally block out any pain in my leg and sprint towards the District Three girl, desperate to get to her before she can fire. I barrel at her and grab her around the waist, throwing her down to the floor with a splash. I know can't wrest the weapon from her (because it's hooked around her whole body) so instead I chop at the oil pouch with my hatchet; it leaks fuel at her waist but I know this won't be enough. As the girl fires I swing the pouch up towards her face with my left hand and then knock the barrel of the flamethrower with my right; she fires the weapon in surprise and I scream, falling backwards and dousing my full head in the shallow pond water. The pain is extreme and the smell of oil and burning hair invades my nostrils; I can't even open my eyes to look at the girl but I'm aware that not all the screaming is coming from me. I keep my face in the water, knowing I have made my stand with nothing more to offer, but I hear a cannon through the watery gloom and then a clipped voice booms around me.

"Ladies and gentlemen please join me in congratulating Malich Reed, the winner of the Third Annual Hunger Games!"

A hovercraft plucks me from the pond and my face burns in agony as it leaves the water, I wonder if I'm still being broadcasted, burning and screaming, as I leave the arena.

On board, a team of people rush to my aid; they place something cool across my face and cover my eyes. Then something stabs me in my arm and everything goes black…

Day Seventeen

I'm being allowed to sit in front of a mirror today.

I'm scared to look but I've been asking to see the damage since I awoke from my medicated sleep yesterday. I flex my left hand, the medics couldn't attach my finger (now that I'm thinking clearly, it seems silly that I even kept it) and I turned down the biotech version they offered me.

An avox arrives to help me walk to the mirrored dressing table; I feel oddly weakened by the recovery process and I've struggled to eat more than a tiny portion of plain food at mealtimes. She pats my shoulder kindly and I risk a look at myself; my dark skin is criss-crossed with white lines and speckles, they represent the areas where I splashed oil on myself in my final fight.

At this moment my stylist, Dillon, enters the bright, white room carrying a copy of my outfit from the Games; I have to wear this for the interview tonight.

"Don't worry about the scars" he tells me "we'll cover them with make up for tonight but they'll fade more every day you use the treatment packs…I'll make sure you've got them for the trip home."

I nod, now that it's time for the Victor interview all thoughts of my appearance drain away.

"Will they show footage of Cass' death?" I ask tentatively.

"Yes…I'm sorry there's no way around it; it's a big scene for your story." Dillon's words are concerned but I'm actually glad…I want to see what happened when she fell.

I am dressed in a navy blue suit with a beige silk handkerchief in the pocket; it has a wheat pattern woven into it. My facial scars are disguised, as promised, but I feel nervous that I might sweat through the make-up.

An audience applauds under the studio lights and I am guided on stage to a comfortable, high backed chair. The host, a woman named Soona Glink, shakes my hand and kisses my cheek; she throws her head back in joyous laughter and takes to her own chair.

"Well, what a wonderful honour it is to interview you tonight, how are you feeling?" She asks.

I cough nervously and exchange pleasantries about my recovery, the attentiveness of the Capitol staff and the comfortable rooms that have been provided for me.

We watch recaps of reapings and the opening ceremony and, at first, I don't really look at Cass' image, not until I can trust myself not to cry. I watch the bloodbath and see the moment that we got split up from each other; I will the on-screen version of myself to find her and then silently plead for her not to sleep in the tree where the lichen covers her eye and robs her of her vision.

Later, the screen version of me calls "Climb Cass! Climb!" and I watch Tryst beat me with a chain; then the camera cuts to a shot of Bates, climbing a tree and watching Cass as she searches for something she can throw down to the ground to help me. I bite my lip to keep from looking away and I see clearly the moment of fear in her eyes; she turns at the sound of the rustling branches and spies the knife in Bates' hand. He stabs her neck without a moment's pause and she falls down to meet me.

The rest of the film is a blur, even my final battle, the fiery demise of the District Three girl, makes no impression on me; I just replay Cass' final moments over and over in my head.

In my nightmares she is set ablaze by Bates and clings to me in fiery torment.

Epilogue

The train ride home is comfortable and, as promised, the facial scars have faded so that you can barely see them. Fields and orchards roll by and I press my forehead to the window, desperate to smell the hot, fragrant air. When we stop I am greeted by my parents and Flo, we embrace and I look deeply into my father's eyes, asking him outright "Did I do the right things?"

He cries hot tears and holds me, murmuring how much they both love me and that I did everything I could for my sister.

The cameras pack up and attendants unload the boxes of food, clothing and other supplies I have ordered to be brought from the Capitol. Once the fuss and business is done I ask "where is she?"

My mother leads me to a shady spot just outside the South Orchard. There are a few small gravestones there, all for children, and I had already half expected it to be the spot chosen for Cass, due to the prettiness of the setting. I ask my mother to leave me; she squeezes my shoulder and kisses my cheek.

Only when she is out of sight do I sink to my knees and allow myself to feel it all.


End file.
